Rosaline Gray
by KeyLime422
Summary: Raising your two younger brothers is no easy task. Neither is growing up on the East Side of Tulsa. But then again, life never has been that easy for the Curtises. What happens when Darry accepts custody of yet another troubled teen?
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: Raising your two younger brothers is no easy task. Neither is growing up on the East Side of Tulsa. But then again, life never has been that easy for the Curtises. What happens when Darry gains custody of yet another troubled teen? (For those of you who aren't particularly found of OC, my apologies, but that's just the kind of story this will be. If you don't like it, then don't read it. For those of you who are giving it a shot, reviews are always appreciated!

**DISCLAIMER**: I DO NOT OWN "THE OUTSIDERS" (just this little plot twist and any outside characters I happen to add)

**Rosaline POV**

I watched the rain splatter across the window, trying to decide whether it was a good sign or a bad sign. My mother used to love this kind of rain, the soft and steady kind that flowers love; that cools your skin on a hot summer's day; that, if you listen long enough to the _plink, plink_ noises it makes on the porch rails, makes you feel calm and clean, just for a moment.

But there's a problem with this logic. Perspective always depends on your mood. And your mood is always subjective. Today, I found nothing comforting in the raindrops, watching them drip across the outside of the window. My skin, like the rest of me, was numb; raindrops weren't going to help. I pressed my wrist to the glass anyways, feeling the cold seep across my skin.

"Rosaline," Ms. Taylor entered the room, acknowledging me in a toneless voice. Social workers, I've learned, are stubbornly impassive people. Mine is, at least. I nodded, turning away from the window to face her.

I was surprised when she sat down behind the desk and told me that the Darryl Curtis jr. had agreed to become my legal guardian. Their parents, my godparents, had been killed a few months ago. Wasn't Darry's plate full enough?

"He already has custody of his younger siblings," she consulted the papers in her hand, "Ponyboy and Sodapop. And I have to say, he seems like he's doing a pretty good job. The department has had its doubts over this case, but they seem like they're managing well enough." Ms. Taylor commented. "I told him about your situation and he called back yesterday, ready to fill out any paperwork and finish any legalities."

I was glad to hear that. But were they really sure that they wanted to take me in as well? Apparently, so. I'd only been part of the foster care system for a short time, but I had absolutely no desire to stay in it if I had any other options.

Mutely, I followed her outside to her car. We made a brief stop at the Children's Home so I could get my belongings and then we were off to Tulsa. It seemed a bit dumb to me, that I had just moved back to Tulsa, then had to be moved to Stillwater, which was apparently the closest place with a foster care center, only to go back to Tulsa less than a month later.

The car ride was only an hour, and I soon found myself in front of a house that was only very vaguely familiar to me. The porch was white, the paint chipped off at a few places. The roof had a few tiles that could be replaced. But the siding was all in-tact, the fence in good condition. Tidy and modest. I flipped my hood over my head and followed Ms. Taylor up the wooden steps, listened to her rap sharply on the front door.

"Hello, are you Mr. Darryl Curtis?" She asked in her formal tone after somebody appeared in the doorway.

"Yes, hello, Ms. Taylor." The man responded. He must've been able to tell who she was from the voice. "Rosaline? Wow, I hardly even recognized you." He turned his attention to me.

_I could say the same thing about you_ I thought. The last time I'd seen Darry was roughly seven years ago. He'd been a lot shorter at age 12. His voice had just started changing when we moved. But when I glanced at his eyes, they were the exact same as I remembered. His hair was a little different and his face seemed a whole lot older, but I suppose that came with the territory.

"Hi Darry," I mumbled, unsure of what else to say.

Darry ushered us inside. There were two other guys sitting on the couch. Although I recognized them immediately, it took me a minute to process their appearances.

"Rose!" Soda got up from where he was sitting, breaking into a smile and giving me a hug, almost like no time had passed. "How are you holding up, sis?" He whispered in my ear. I smiled weakly. He always used to call me his sister, even though we were technically only godsiblings. He hadn't lost his knack for making people feel comfortable, I could see, something I was grateful for at the moment.

"Hey, Ponyboy," I said quietly after Soda released me.

"Hi, Rose. It's nice to see you again."

We exchanged letters a few times a year but it didn't entirely bridge the seven-year gap. I tried to remember what he had written last, some things about school, Steve being jumped, Keith, who was now called Two-Bit, almost wrapping his car around a pole. It was funny to see these guys, who I'd played pretty much non-stop with as a kid, semi-grown up. Of course, Ponyboy was my age, but he even looked significantly different: his hair was a lot longer, a little lighter, and slicked with grease like Soda. He was taller than me now; that always bugged him as a kid, being shorter than the girl, even if it was only by an inch or so.

I wondered how I'd fair in a race against him. Or if Darry and Keith/Two-Bit were still nearly unbeatable on a football team together. Did Keith/Two-Bit still have freckles or had they faded. I wondered if Johnny Cade was still around. If the Dallas Winston he'd mentioned a few times fit the image that his description conjured in my head. I felt a little off-kilter, knowing and not knowing so much.

Ms. Taylor had obviously already given them all of the gory details. And some things I'm not exaggerating when I say that. Legally, it seemed like all the details were taken care of. Ms. Taylor left after telling Darry that she'd be back in a few weeks as a follow up, to see how I was adjusting and everything. I nodded goodbye to her. I couldn't tell if there was less tension in the room with her presence or without it.

"Rosaline, we had no idea…" Pony didn't seem sure how to finish, after all, I'd never mentioned it in one of my letters. Mom wanted it that way. She was so sure that things were going to work out. So, I did as she asked, and never said anything to anybody.

"You weren't supposed to. Nobody was," I muttered.

"You can move into Pony's old room. He and Soda share one, so it's empty." Darry told me, after a short pause. He grabbed my suitcase and led me down the hall. "Do you have any other bags?" He asked, feeling how light the luggage was.

"I only packed a few things. Everything else's still in boxes at the house." I explained. We'd moved back to Tulsa about four weeks ago, found a little house right outside the city. But we hadn't done a lot of unpacking, even if we didn't have much to unpack.

"We can go there tomorrow. It's Sunday, and I have off. We'll collect whatever you want to keep, and I can talk to a realtor about selling it," he suggested. I nodded again. I had no emotional attachments to that place. Financially, I had a feeling that was the only way he could afford to take me in.

I unzipped my suitcase, set a few things on the nightstand, feeling very tired.

"Thank you, Darry." I turned towards him. This wasn't the easiest option for him and I didn't want to sound like a brat, "I really do appreciate this," I hoped my words sounded genuine.

"Try to get some rest, Rose." Darry sounded tired too. "We can talk more in the morning."

I laid down on the old blue comforter, willing the tears to come and pass quickly so I could actually sleep before the sun came up.

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><p><strong>AN: So there's the first chapter! I know it's basically just an introduction, but I thought it would be better to just cut it off there before I go any futher. Any thoughts? (Please note that I don't know much about the foster care system at all, so I'm taking some major liberties in my story. Hopefully, I didn't offend or make anyone scoff too much). Thank you for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER**: I DO NOT OWN "THE OUTSIDERS" (just this little plot twist and any outside characters I happen to add)

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><p><strong>Rosaline POV<strong>

I woke up early, something that was quickly becoming the norm for me. For a split second, I couldn't exactly remember where I was. That was happening to me a lot lately. First, in the little house outside Tulsa, then in the Home, and now here. My eyes and mind adjusted after a minute, and I slipped out of bed. The mattress had been a whole lot more comfortable than the one I had been sleeping on for the past few days.

I cracked the door and listened to the silence, punctured only by the sound of snoring. It seemed like Darry, Sodapop, and Ponyboy were all still asleep. I was glad to be able to creep into the bathroom without anybody noticing. There was shaving cream and razors stacked up in the medicine cabinet and the seat on the toilet was up, but the walls were the same shade of blue and the curtains on the window and shower bore the same print that they always had. I took comfort in the familiarity.

I showered and dressed quickly, combing my hair out in the fogged-up mirror and trying not to disrupt anything. I didn't spend much more time on my appearance other than noting that the bruises around my neck were almost gone.

I wandered into the kitchen and Soda smiled when he saw me. Some things never change: he was barefoot and shirtless, his hair sticking up in the back.

"Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?" He poured himself a glass of chocolate milk and passed me the orange juice. He remembered a few things about me too.

"I was already up," I told him, sipping the drink.

"Got any preferences for breakfast?" He opened up a cabinet and pulled out a skillet, scooped a couple of eggs out of the ice box. I shook my head.

"First one up cooks, the other two clean. Do you mind helping me out?" He asked. I shook my head again and started making pancake batter out of the ingredients that he lined up on the countertop.

"You know, I don't remember you being this quiet," Soda smirked after a couple minutes, stirring the eggs in the skillet.

"Sorry," I muttered. He laughed. "Some things change, I guess."

He was silent for a minute. "I'm really sorry about your parents," He said, the laughter fading into seriousness.

"And I am about yours," I replied, looking down. "My mom cried for a week when she heard the news last spring."

"So did we, I'm tough enough to admit it, but you didn't hear it from me," He said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." I said firmly, then tried to rephrase it. "I'm grateful, really, to you guys, but if it's all the same to you, I just…can't," I didn't know how else to explain it and I knew that I had to figure that out soon, but it seemed like Soda understood.

"Fair enough." He reasoned.

"Are you—are you guys sure about this? About me being here?" I asked. Technically, I should've asked Darry, but I figured that Soda would be the best to give me an answer. He wouldn't be overtly blunt, but he'd tell me the truth.

"Rosaline," he looked me square in the eye, "you're our godsister. All of us, we're glad to have you here, whatever the crummy circumstances. Screw the seven years. It's what your mom wanted, it's what my mom would've agreed to in a heartbeat, and it's what Darry knew was best and right to do." He told me earnestly. I tried to believe him.

"Thanks," I broke eye contact but didn't know what else to say so I just dropped more pancake batter onto the griddle.

Ponyboy and Darry showed up right as we finished with the food. They greeted me easily, which made me feel more at ease than I ever had down in North Carolina. I flipped a flapjack onto my plate along with some maple syrup and sat down at the table. The conversation was light enough, and I figured out that Ponyboy, like me, had skipped a grade and would be in the 9th grade and that Soda hadn't gone back to school after his sophomore year and now worked down at the gas station full time. Ponyboy hadn't mentioned that before.

"We can head down to the house when you're finished, Rose," Darry addressed me. "Can you give me directions to it?"

"Yeah, it's not that hard to get to," I assured him, setting my plate by the sink. I grabbed my shoes from my suitcase and I was ready.

* * *

><p>It took about 20 minutes to reach the little yellow house that I'd been foolish enough to almost think of as my home. I kicked off my shoes and led us inside. I grabbed a box and shoved all of my clothes, the little bit of jewelry that I owned, and my books inside. Some of Mom's old things went into another. Other than that, there wasn't much that I wanted. Darry had politely asked if I needed help, but I told him that I was fine on my own. He was a little awkward when it came to trying to act compassionate, but it had never really bothered me. I knew he had the best intentions at heart, even if he wasn't always comfortable showing it. I secured the boxes shut and joined him in the kitchen. We threw out the old food in the fridge, tossed the non-perishables from the pantry into the truck, and we were done. The sparse furniture, the kitchenware, it was all going to be sold.<p>

We quickly lugged the boxes inside when we reached the Curtis house. Darry didn't stick around for very long, said he had to go down to the realtor's office later. Sodapop and Ponyboy were gone, most likely at the movies or the vacant lot or somewhere around town with Two-Bit, Steve, and Johnny. The gang hadn't changed much in that regard.

I stowed the boxes in the corner of my room, next to my suitcase, unsure of what to do next; I wanted to keep everything packed up right now. There wasn't much playing on the television, and the humidity outside prevented me from wanting to hunt down the boys. Boys, I guess they were almost men. I must've been more tired that I originally thought, because I managed to fall asleep pretty quickly after plopping down on the old sofa.

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><p>My growling stomach woke me up. A few hours had passed and there was still no sign of any of the Curtises. I poked around in the kitchen, coming up with a few things that I thought would be sufficient for dinner. An hour and a round of washing dishes later, there was a large dish of tetrazzini baking in the oven when suddenly the front door burst open. Someone bolted inside and I jumped, backing into the swinging door of the kitchen, throwing my hands up instinctively as something came flying at my head. The familiar feel of a football nestled itself in my grasp, and I was glad that my scream of surprise had not made it past my throat.<p>

"Sorry 'bout that!" A boy who I recognized as Steve said sheepishly, holding his hands up for me to throw it back. "I was aiming for the kid."

Beside me, Ponyboy scowled.

"It's nice to see you again, Steve," I said wryly, tossing his football back.

"You too, Rose. Soda told me that you were staying with them, but, man, you look different." He told me. I couldn't tell if he meant that in a good way or not.

"Whatcha cookin'?" Soda meandered through the door to the kitchen, sniffing the air.

"Tetrazzini. I hope it's ok with you guys, I didn't know what else to make." I started.

"Sounds and smells great to me, thanks Rose." Darry said. "I would've been home earlier, but the guy at the construction site saw me and had to ask me a few things about our current project," He explained. I nodded. I didn't mind being alone so much. It was something that I had been growing accustomed to in the past couple of months. Ponyboy set the table while I pulled out the serving dish, setting it on the stovetop. Steve joined us, muttering something about his dad that nobody commented on. Soda glanced at me, but I avoided his gaze, taking a sip of my water. They'd been playing football with Two-Bit and Johnny, who'd gone to Two-Bit's house to crash for the night.

"You should've come by the park to see them. Two-Bit was excited to hear that you were in town." Soda mentioned.

"Two-Bit gets excited when they serve chocolate cake in the cafeteria," Steve laughed.

_"I'm glad I'm about as exciting as chocolate cake_," I thought, but didn't say anything aloud.

"The point is," Ponyboy cut in, "is that the other guys are happy to hear that you're back."

I laughed at their camraderie while Darry rolled his eyes.

By the time we were all finished and everything was washed and put away, it was 8:30.

"Um, Darry, I think I'm gonna go out for a while," I mentioned offhandedly as I tied my shoes.

"Where are you going?" He looked up from the paper he was reading.

"I was just gonna go for a walk," I replied, surprised by his question. Why did it matter to him?

"Stay around the neighborhood if you're going out by yourself. Curfew's at ten." He added. I nodded.

I didn't have enough time then. It would take a good 30 minutes to walk to where I wanted to get to, which meant hardly any time at all. And something told me that I didn't want to incur the wrath of Darry on my second night here. I kept my walk short, just going through the neighborhood, thankfully not running into anyone. I would just have to wait until tomorrow.

* * *

><p>The sun greeted me bright and early the next morning. I snuck into the shower again, not wasting any time, packing a peanut-butter sandwich into my bookback and slinging it over my shoulder. I rummaged in my things until I found a notebook, ripping out a piece of paper and scribbling a note.<p>

_Hi Darry,  
>I just went out to go to church and run a few errands. If there was anything you needed me to do, I'll make sure to do it as soon as I get back.<em>

_Rosaline_

That sounded fine, didn't it? It was Sunday, and he hadn't mentioned anything to me last night, so I assumed that I was in the clear. I changed into a yellow sundress and tied my hair back with a ribbon. Glancing down at my outfit, I tossed a set of old clothes in my bag as well.

After getting turned around once or twice and making a quick stop, I reached my destination. The church was small and located just outside of Tulsa, which suited me just fine. Mom and I had seen it when we first moved back but never got a chance to attend a service. The people there dressed very nicely and there was nobody there who I could even vaguely remember from my childhood or anyone who'd attended Mom's burial. I ducked into a pew near the back; I was growing increasingly fond of annonymity.

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><p>After the service, I changed in the ladies' bathroom, trading my dress for a pair of cut-offs and a t-shirt. Not far off from the church, up over the hill, was the graveyard. I stopped by the painfully familiar headstone and exhaled slowly. It still shook me whenever I looked at it, even when I tried to brace myself.<p>

"Hi, Mom," I started quietly, sitting down on the sun-warmed ground. "I brought you some flowers. I'm sorry they're not from the florist, but they are from the garden. That should count for something. And here I thought that those little things wouldn't last past a week. They're actually doing ok; they're still really small but I suppose I should wait more than a month before I give up." I set the little bouquet next to the smooth stone.

"I'm sorry that I didn't come to visit yesterday. It's been a while since I've observed curfew, but Darry wanted me home earlier than I could have managed. I guess he worries about that kind of stuff. He's doing really well," I tried to smile. I'd only been in the house for a little bit, but the bond that those three had was already clearly evident, in how they spoke to each other, passed out their favorite sections of the newspaper, and how they knew how everyone ate their foods.

"I like to think that you miss me. I hope that's ok," I reached out and brushed my hand against the stone. "But maybe it's not, since you're gone. Am I a hypocrite, sitting here on a Sunday afternoon, after church, even thinking that?" I pulled a brownish leaf off of one of the flowers of the bouquet and crushed it against my palm.

"I don't know what else to do, so I'm just going to keep on pretending." I continued, "Because I'm stubborn. Got it from you. And," I swallowed thickly, "I miss you so much. I just-I just wish that you would've held on for a little while longer..."

It took a couple of deep breaths before I could go on. Because I had to get it out. Because here, sitting alone in this little graveyard, I could say it.

"Were you embarrassed? Ashamed? Why didn't you care enough to hold on for me?" The tears had started to flow at this point, spattering onto my shirt. I ignored them.

"What's it like up there, Mom?" I sprawled out on the grass. I needed to believe that she was still somewhere. Maybe not out of faith, but out of desperation. "I didn't know that you needed to see it so badly. What was so special that you couldn't wait a little longer, see me graduate, marry, be happy? You-you won't even be there to take embarrassing pictures of me before homecoming. Or meet my prom date. We would have managed, Mom. I'm sure of that."

I let myself cry, feeling more secure here than in any of the rooms I had called my own for the past couple of years. I curled up on the grass and apparently, all of the sleep that I was missing out on during the night had decided to start to hit me during the day. I fell asleep again, using my lumpy backpack as a pillow and waking up with the imprint of a zipper across my face. I needed to stop and calm myself down. Rubbing my tearstained face, I opened up my bag and pulled out the copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ that I'd hidden inside. The paper cover for the book had been so tattered that I had to throw it out, but the book itself was still in good, abeit somewhat used, condition, the spine still intact and covers firm. I had found it by accident, shoved behind a set of thesauri at the library. Technically, if shouldn't have been there, since it was banned in so many places, so I had quietly removed it. I wasn't proud of that action exactly, but the novel itself was extremely interesting.

A few chapters later, I tossed the book aside. Holden needed a wakeup call, I decided. He irritated me, running away whenever he pleased, getting so frustrated over a few bad habits, wandering around New York City just because he was upset with the world. He had no respect for anybody. I envied the luxury of the warped perspective he carried. I stuffed the novel back inside my backpack, stretched, and grabbed my sandwich, noting the unrelenting heat and realizing how late in the afternoon it was. I stood up when I was done eating, brushing the crumbs off of my top. I had one last thing to say today.

"Dad's gone. I hope you know that, but I hope he's not up there with you. That wouldn't be right at all. He was drunk. You knew that when he called. And he got into the car and made it to the highway...drove off the road..." I ended bitterly.

"Sodapop says everything will worked out," I changed routes, "He's really optimistic about that kind of stuff. He's kind of optimistic about everything. All things considered, I like being back here. I haven't been that kind to the old gang, and I know that's wrong, but I'm working on it. I love you, and I'll be back soon." With that I turned and started back down the hill.

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><p>I wandered through Tulsa, not entirely sure of the time, but I assumed that I was still well within the boundaries of my curfew. It was only dusk. I popped into the movie theatre, fishing some spare change from the depths of my backpack, buying a ticket and drink for the next available show. I didn't pay much attention to the film, sipping on my soda and daydreaming through the plot. It was corny and simple and predictable, but I liked to think that spending my Sunday evening in a movie theatre was a little bit more than a graveyard.<p>

It was a lot darker out when I hit the sidewalk. Thankfully, my eyes had already been adjusted to the darkness in the movie house. I yanked a lightweight sweatshirt over my head, tossing the hood over my head and pulling the straps of my backpack over both shoulders. I didn't run into anybody, friend or foe, and was relieved when I reached the Curtis house.

Darry looked up when I opened the door. He was sitting in the chair reading the newspaper. And now was glaring at me.

"Do you know what time it is?" He began without preamble, shutting the page he was on.

I glanced at the clock on the far wall. It was only 9:30.

"You said that curfew was at ten." I mumbled, staring at the paper on the end table. He sighed, still sounding irritated. I was starting to feel uncomfortable, so I slipped into the kitchen. Unfortunately, he followed me. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and turned around to face him.

"I told you yesterday to just stick around the neighborhood if you were by yourself. And the guys all looked for you this afternoon, so I know that you weren't." He continued.

"I left you a note," I tried again and he quickly cut me off.

"Going to church I can understand. And having a few errands, but that doesn't take up the entire day. And if you had that many things to do, you should've told us a little more. Or call. Soda and Pony try to abide by that and you need to as well. Do you think you can understand that?" His voice had risen by the time he'd finished as if to emphasize his point. He stepped forward and I froze, his words and stance resembling my dad's, especially after a couple beers, when he was yelling about the bills and how I needed to pull my weight more around the house, and how my wasting hours of my dad at school wasn't doing anything to help support us, and how my mom and I couldn't cook, and I was useless; did I understand that?

His hand reached out and I recoiled, dropping the glass in my hand, my eyes squeezing shut. When I opened them, Darry was staring at me wide-eyed. I registered that his hand had actually _not_ come in contact with me; he'd merely shut the cabinet door that I'd opened.

"I wasn't going to hurt you, Rose." He said slowly, carefully taking a step back, watching my reaction.

"S-Sorry, Darry," I bit my lip. "I-I know. And, uh, I'll remember what you said next time. Can I be excused?" I stared at the kitchen floor, hating the stutter that crept into my voice. It was one of my several bad habits that I wished I could break.

"Sure." He didn't seem to know what else to say.

I fled back to my room, shutting the door and sitting on my hands on the bed. I felt so stupid for what had just happened. I'd just reacted how I was used to; yesterday with the football I'd managed to cover but today, I hadn't been able to keep a handle on it. I tossed my bag in the corner and crawled under the covers, not even bothering to find my pajamas. Tonight, I knew better than to even hope that the nightmares wouln't come.

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><p><strong>AN: So...whaddaya think? I am a very slow updater, but I hope this chapter was ok for any of you following this story. I loved the reviews that I got already, and any more feedback is more than welcome! (Even and especially critiques. I can handle them). Thank you!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh, hey.** ** So, this morning, I was thinking about a certain story I'd published a while back, and wondered what had ever happened to it. Apparently, the last time I'd updated was exactly one year ago. So 'overdue' is an understatement, but here's another installment! **

**PS: in the last chapter, Rose mentioned North Carolina. She gets geographically confused. She meant Texas. (More explanations to come.)**

**DPOV**

Rose was adjusting. I guess that was a semi-accurate way to describe it. Having to make a five hour move to live with people who you hadn't seen in roughly six years after the successive deaths of your parents isn't exactly the easiest thing to handle. But, to give the kid her credit, she really was trying. She didn't question our chaotic routine and pitched in to help.

I'd been worried about taking her in. And I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't now. To put it bluntly, money was tight. It had always been tight, but with one more person, it was even more so. We'd sold the house that Rose's mom had bought, along with most of the furniture and other house wares, which was definitely helpful, financially, but it wasn't going to hold out for ever. And this was something that I realized about two minutes into my phone conversation with Rose's social worker. And I heavily contemplated telling her that I was sorry, but it just wasn't a feasible option for me.

But then I did what I had done a thousand times in the past few months; I sat down and tried to figure out what my parents would've done. Mom and Dad would've taken her in a heart beat. Heck, they had been named Rose's godparents for a reason. Our dads had known each other for years, since high school. And our moms were so similar that it was just natural that they became close through that friendship. Even if things were strained, even if my mom was at her wits' end trying to deal with three sons, they would've.

The majority of my childhood memories included her, sometimes on the periphery, and sometimes strongly in the forefront. I remembered the countless times she'd subtly comforted Ponyboy when he'd get upset with whatever trivial game we were playing, without making him feel like a wimp. And then there were all the inane ideas that Soda would think up; Rose was always good at deciphering what was going on inside his head. Sometimes she'd talk him out of it and sometimes she'd figure out a way to actually make it work, leaving us to scratch our heads, reluctantly impressed. You'd be surprised how much you could get away with when you had a perfectly innocent-looking 7-year-old girl who could lie without batting an eye, climb trees like a spider monkey, and pick a lock remarkably fast.

So what else could I do? I agreed and hoped like crazy that there was a way I could make it all work.

And it was working as well as I could hope for. The only snag so far was that Rose had an unpleasant habit of disappearing for long stretches of time. With Ponyboy, who took absent-minded to a whole new level sometimes, I was used to it, and tried not to worry. But Rose was a girl. And a bit on the scrawny side. And grieving. I tried to talk to her as calmly as possible, but since she still had a tendency to flinch whenever somebody moved too quickly towards her, we weren't getting very far.

Like earlier this morning, when I chewed her and Ponyboy out for crashing at Two-Bit's without either of them thinking to tell me until I'd called at two in the morning. I had been happy that she was actually going out, instead of just sitting here like she had done the past couple of days, but that emotion faded after more than a couple hours of not hearing from them. I might've been a little harsh, but I needed to get through to them. Ponyboy nodded like it was a routine lecture; Rose stared with the same detached expression that was becoming increasingly familiar. I let out a frustrated groan. I'd been trying to be patient, but it wasn't working.

"You need to stop living like you're still in your old life." I told her. "You lost your parents. You need to accept what's happened, because moping isn't helping." She stared at me, her eyes hardening. The words were coming out wrong, like they always did. I knew everything was rotten about her situation. To be honest, I hadn't even told Ponyboy and Sodapop all the details. But it seemed like I had touched a nerve. Because suddenly the girl who was either just too scared or too sad to say much of anything was yelling.

"This is how I've always lived. I messed up, I know. Because I do things that I shouldn't and the things I don't do I should. And now my mom's dead. I know, so you don't have to tell me!"

I was surprised and had a feeling that she was refering to more than just the lapse of judgment last night. Just as quickly as her hackles had been raised, she deflated and started to apologize. I waved it off and told her and Pony to take care of the dishes.

Afterwards, I caught an interesting bit of conversation between them. Pony had stomped a bit into the kitchen and was muttering under his breath.

"Ponyboy," she began, her bravado gone. I hadn't shut my bedroom door and could hear them. "You know he wouldn't do all of that if he didn't care. It's just his way of looking out for you."

"You're wrong," Pony cut her off shortly. He became incredibly groggy when he was tired, but also sometimes bratty. I balled my hands into firsts to keep from going back out there.

"No, listen to me," she insisted. A chair scraped the floor as Pony stood up.

"No! Just shut it. What would you know about a family?" He yelled at her hatefully, "Yours was so screwed up, it's pathetic."

My eyes widened. I would chew him out and spit him out again! But it was Rose's reply that really shook me up.

"Yeah, it was." Her voice was flat and contained. I heard shuffling. "But don't patronize me, Ponyboy. Not until you've come home to a beating. Not until you've had to stay home from school to keep people from noticing. You have no right." A chill had creeped into her voice and crawled up my neck. Preparing myself to act as peacekeeper, a fairly new role for me, I opened the door and walked into the kitchen. Just in time to see Rosaline skirt through the front door and take off down the street.

"Really, kid?" I had used up most of my steam yelling at him already. At least Pony had the decency to look shame-faced. I weighed the options of either trying to go after her or just letting her go. There was a very slim chance of her opening up to me, but I didn't feel right not making an effort. Luckily, about five minutes later, the phone rang. I grabbed it.

"Darry?" Soda's voice came through the line.

"Soda? Is everything ok?" I asked. He'd been working at the gas station today and his shift should have just wrapped up. If he had something he needed to call me about instead of just waiting until he came home, I thought I was justified in asking.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "Rosaline just literally ran past the gas station. I would've grabbed her, but I didn't even recognize that it was her at first. She didn't look so great. Is she ok?"

"I think she's just upset," I sighed. Raising two kid brothers and trying to figure out how a girl's mind worked were arguably the two hardest tasks in the world. "Can you go after her? She tends to talk to you more."

"Well...I would. Except she hopped on the bus. I know, I'm sorry, but I didn't register the whole scene until after she was gone."

"The bus? She can't be running away." I didn't say it out loud, but that would cause heaps of trouble. Although we had passed the custody hearing, there was still the home-visit hoop to jump through. And it was scheduled for any day this week. And I loved Rose, but having to explain that she had run away would jeopardize any chance of her staying here and probably raise more eyebrows towards Pony and Soda.

"Listen, Dar. Calm down," Soda snapped me back into the present. "Steve says he knows that bus route. He's got his car; we'll follow her and make sure she doesn't head for any trouble." He assured me that they would be smooth and keep her from noticing. I didn't think she would do anything rash, but I would rather err on the side of caution for the moment.

* * *

><p><strong>SodaPOV<strong>

It had been a slow day at work, with few people needing gas and few cars needing repairs. Steve and I mainly just lazed around unti our shifts were over. Suddenly, he squinted at the bus station across the street.

"Hey, isn't that Rose?" He pointed. I followed his direction and the realization hit me just as she boarded the bus.

"Oh, crap." I said. I knew that she and Pony would get it from being thoughtless last night, but I didn't think either would take off. They knew they were in the wrong. Ponyboy usually accepted it and Rose simply wasn't the impulsive type. Puzzled by this turn of events, I called Darry. Steve told me that he knew the route that bus went so before Darry's forehead vein started bulging, we cobbled together a plan. Steve grabbed his keys and we quickkly found the bus. It had a few minutes' head start, but had to make a couple of stops. We stayed a few cars behind, but easily followed it into the neighorhood just outside the city. I didn't come out here once, mainly because it was a bit out of the way, but it was nice enough and more removed from the greaser-Soc feud.

"Why the heck is she getting off at a graveyard?" Steve asked. Up ahead, the bus had pulled over and was letting out a sole passenger.

"Steve. Her mom just died." I knew I wasn't the brightest lightbulb, but this wasn't a big mystery. Thankfully, the graveyard was uphill. We parked and got out. At least we knew she didn't have plans to high-tail it back to Texas or anything. We crept up the hill and watched from a distance as she knelt by a gravestone. I could barely make out what she was saying. Soundlessly, Steve and I edged closer, hiding behind an oak tree.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know you wouldn't approve of how I'm acting. And I know better. I shouldn't get upset like this." Rose's voice was becoming less steady with every word. "I hope it's nice up there where you are. I hope you have all the flower gardens and sunsets you wanted. Hell, you and Ponyboy probably watch the same damn sunset. Sorry, darn sunset."

Beside me, Steve smirked at her self-correction, but not in a cocky way.

Whenever he takes out the trash, he watches it." She continued. "Soda laughs at him for daydreaming so much. Soda's got the same kind of laugh as you, mom. It's just like yours was back in Texas, before...He and Darry get into arguments sometimes, but he just laughs it off."

And here I'd been wondering if she was even listening to half of the things I'd been saying. My little sister, it would seem, paid attention to detail.

"Darry, it's-, I can't-. It's not fair, Mom!" She burst out. I wondered how she and Darry were doing. They were polite to each other, of course, but I knew that he could be intimidating. He was never violent, but we could all see how often Rose flinched. It wasn't personal to any of us. But Rose evidently was not about to go on a rant about Darry.

"Every single time I look at Darry, whenever he talks to me, or his brothers, it's-he's, he's just like Dad should've been." Her voice was wooden and broken. "He's fair and nice, a lot nicer than he needs to be. And it's nice, Mom, when you come home late and someone asks you where you've been because they're worried, not because they're looking for an excuse to hit you." Another sob escaped and she slumped to the ground. Her relaxed posture told me that her late night out last night had caught up to her.

"Now what do we do?" Steve whispered. I had a feeling that Rose wouldn't be happy if she knew we'd heard her. We decided to let her sleep for a couple minutes and Steve made his way down the hill to the mini-mart across the street while I kept an eye on her. Losing my folks had been rough too. But I knew that Rose's story was a little worse. She was alone; we at least had each other. Plus, a car accident is just that, an accident. Nobody could see it coming. At least we knew that they hadn't suffered. From the watered-down version that Darry had told me, I knew there was a significant amount of suffering. I was just now getting a grasp on the depth of Rose's grief. Darry had probably been much more of a father figure to her in the past few days than her own old man in the past few years. And she was just trying to reconcile those two images. I mused this over until Steve returned with a bag in tow. We slowly approached her and I shook her shoulder.

"Soda," she snapped awake, not really having enough time to fall into a deep sleep. Her eyes and nose were red, but she hadn't broken down bawling. "What are you doing here?" She glances around the deserted graveyard, an embarrassed blush mixing with the pink tinges on her face.

"Same thing as when I carried you home after you went flying over your handlebars on your bike. Looking out for you," I grinned.

"Here." Steve handed her something from the bag. I was surprised to see a chocolate bar in his outstretched hand. My best buddy, who hated tears and emotion of any sort, had chosen a wonderful moment to display his sensitive side. Rose accepted it with a watery thank you.

"How did you guys get here?" She persisted.

"Happened to get behind the right bus," Steve lied smoothly. "We got a little mixed up but found the place eventually."

Crisis thankfully averted, I slung my arm around Rose and we guided her to the car. She tried to apologize but I reassured her that everything was going to be ok. With her mom's gravestone in the background, I promised myself that it would be.

* * *

><p><strong>RPOV<strong>

We stopped at the Curtis house first. Apparently we had to placate Darry's worries that I had flown the coop. I felt horrible about what had happened earlier, but he just waved off my apology, telling me that as long as I knew that I'd been acting stupid and would try to avoid it in the future, I didn't have to keep saying sorry. As far as my lipping off, he just grinned, gave his own sort of roundabout apology, and said that he'd heard a lot worse.

Steve had a date with Evie, his current girlfriend, so he unceremoniously kicked us out of his car. Soda and his girl, Sandy, would've gone with them, but seeing as she wasn't home, he decided to hang with Ponyboy. Hopefully, between the three of us, we wouldn't do something dumb. Pony and I hadn't exactly gotten in any trouble before. We'd gone to the movies, then on the way home found Two-Bit a little more drunk than usual and hauled him to his house. He'd gotten into a fight too, somewhere along the way, so we had to clean him up. Ponyboy had fallen asleep on the couch while I was bandaging Two-Bit's knuckles, and my plan to rest my eyes turned into a nap that went way past curfew.

Even so, I could understand why Darry had gotten so mad. This especially would reflect badly on the whole custody situation if it became a habit. I was honestly really happy that I would most likely be able to stay with the Curtises, but at the same time, I knew that their sticking together as brothers was a lot more important than me. Not that anybody said it out loud or even hinted it, but it was the truth. So I promised to be more careful.

We were just walking down the sidewalk when I felt that strange feeling run up my spine. At home, I used to associate it with the smell of spirits and the beating that would probably follow. Right now, though, I was associating it with the vague sets of footsteps behind us. I began to pull my hair back, French-braiding it against my head and tucking the tail up by the nape of my neck. I had a bad feeling I wasn't being paranoid, and I'd learned from personal experience that it put you at a major disadvantage if you didn't have a bunch of hair to be yanked around.

Soda and Pony were clowning around, flipping off jokes at each other next to me.

"Hey, guys," I started casually, "Keep doing what you're doing, but I think we're being followed." I spoke low, making sure my voice didn't carry. I hadn't had to bear a lot of witness to this Soc and greaser warfare yet, and I really wanted to put it off as long as possible.

"I think you're right," Soda kept up his joking tone as he nonchalantly glanced behind us.

"Three of them?" I asked, hoping I'd overestimated. Soda nodded.

"Socs?" Pony slipped under his breath.

"Ok, Rose, on my cue, run," Soda ordered.

"Can't." I shook my head and motioned towards my shoes. I had taken off this morning in an old pair of sneakers, but they had literally fallen apart by the time I'd gotten to the Curtises. The only other pair I had that fit were dressier with a heel. I couldn't even hope to slip them off because they were securely strapped to my feet. Plus, I was in a skirt.

"Then just try your best to stay out of the way. Pony and I can hold our own."

Which they did the best they could, fighting against the odds. The guys were Soda's age, maybe a little older and most likely Mexican, or of Mexican descent. Their darker features matched the ones that were common back in Texas. I really did try to follow Soda's command. Ponyboy was a good fighter and agile enough to outwit two on one when he and Soda had to trade off fighting the third. But he got around them just long eough to grab at me. This wasn't so great. My instincts had taught me how to avoid the greatest injuries and try for minimal damages. Most of the time the fight-or-flight response had assuredly gone to 'flee'. Except, now, the only option was futher into the alley. He had me pinned against the wall in no time. The feel of a blade against my through had me shaking. I hated having anything close to my neck, let alone a knife.

"Hey! Let her up! That's a suckerpunch move!" Soda yelled, panting slightly. The scuffling sounds of his and Pony's fight had ceased.

"_Casi demasiado facil, verdad?_" The one holding me cackled. (_**AN: I apologize for the lack of upside-down punctuation and other Spanish grammer mistakes; it's been a while since I've used it.**_**)**

I focused on the sound of his accent to ignore the blood pounding in my ears.

"What the hell?" Soda yelled behind us. I managed to crane my neck just enough to see that while both he and Ponyboy were tensed, there was little they could do with me in the situation I was in. Another tally on my uselessness board. Somebody positioned himself on the other side of me. I couldn't see the remaining thug.

The feel of a rough hand running down my calf and up past my skirt him shocked me into complete stillness.

"_No me toques_!" I cried. At least my shaking was under control.

"_Eh?_" They were surprised by my response. Behind me I heard a much quieter "What the hell?" from Pony.

"_Hablas Espanol?" _A voice breathed too close to my ear.

"Si,_"_ I glared at him. "_Para, por favor"_ I ordered in a voice that thankfully sounded much calmer than I was.

"_Jaja. Que me dijiste? No te gusta?_" He sounded amused. He pulled the ribbon from my hair, and I shuddered as his grimy hand ran through the strands.

"Stop it!" Soda burst out again.

"_Sabes que t__us amigos no pueden ayudarte, si?_" He smirked.

"_Sabes que no es justo a usar un cuchillo y una chicaa para luchar a tus batallas, si?"_ I shot back. It would sound a whole lot better if my voice wasn't a half-squeak.

He didn't like that. I felt a sudden, acute burning sensation. A cigarette was pressed against my inner arm. Though I was unpleasantly familiar with the sensation, that didn't mean I liked it.

"_Para!_" I yelled. "_Por favor!"_ Like a lot of people, I knew how to hide my emotions, namely my fear, when I had to. But mine was a particularly thin veneer.

"_Por que? Que vas a hacer para pararme. Ellos no pueden hacer nada."_ He added more pressure on my arm._ "Bueno, grita para me."_

I clenched my jaw while a few black spots popped up in my line of sight. What the heck was I going to do? I couldn't move much without risking getting a haircut right below the neck. Soda and Pony were sort of in a tough spot too. But I was terrified that the hand on my leg would go a lot farther if something didn't happen soon.

"_OYE!" _

I nearly cried with relief when I heard that voice. It was blessedly familiar and belonged to a very close friend who should have been in Texas right now, but I wasn't about to question it. I craned my neck to see what was going on.

* * *

><p><strong>SodaPOV<strong>

_"Glory, what the HELL are we going to do?_" I thought frantically. Stupid thugs trying to pick a fight. I could've handled that; Ponyboy and I had been in more than a few rumbles and knew our stuff. But we had Rose to think of. And protect. And now she was pinned up against a wall with a blade on her throat, a hand on her leg, and a cigarette on her arm. Beside me, I saw that Ponyboy's jaw was clenched.

While the two idiots holding Rose were taunting us, a figure crept up behind us so silently that I didn't see him until he had the third guy in a choke-hold. He yelled out in Spanish. I was more than a little wary of him; the last thing that I needed for us was to get caught up in some sort of rivalry between two gangs. But he was alone, his angry glare on the cigarette against Rose's skin. She visibly relaxed when she heard him call out.

"_Quien eres?" _Thug One asked.

"_No te importa. Pero, debes parar si no quieres que yo de muerte a su amigo." _The thug in his arms was spluttering furiously.

"_Tu tienes sus manos,"_ Thug Two (with the knife) shrugged._ "Nosotros tenemos el cuchillo._"

I wished I knew what they were saying. It sounded like negotiations.

"_Verdad. Pero, si matan a la chica, necesitaren luchar a tres. Si yo mato a su amigo, solo tienen_ dos..."

The dialogue went on for a few more seconds while the choking thug steadily turned from red to purple. Abruptly, Thug One shoved Rose at our mysterious guest, forcing him to release Thug Three to catch her. But Ponyboy and I were more than ready. I was seeing so much red that I relished releasing all my anger on them. Between the three of us, the other three were quickly retreating down the street. I managed to get a grip on the overwhelmingly strong urge to go after them just in time to see Rose fall apart. She was shaking nearly uncontrollably while the stranger tried to hold her up.

"I'm Javier, by the way," he told us sheepishly. Though it was obvious that he was pretty tough, his manner was much gentler as he tried to quiet Rose.

"Sorry!" She gasped as soon as she could. "I'm so sorry, guys." She wasn't hysterically sobbing or anything, but there were tears streaking her face and she couldn't seem to stop trembling. I guessed this was what shock looked like. Pony sometimes mildly resembled this if he got a bad jumping or nightmares.

I sighed. It was a habit of hers, it seemed, apologizing for something that wasn't her fault, like when dinner was slightly burnt (compared to my questionably-colored food, it was delicious), or if we walked into each other in the hallway (she'd skitter about five steps back). And also when she was cornered in an alley. I knew it was just a bad reaction. What was worse was when Steve, frustrated over a fight with Evie, snapped at her and told her to stop apologizing for everything. Now she was more conscious of it and got more upset when it happened.

"_Esta bien, Rosa_. _No te preocupes. Calmate, por favor._" Javier spoke to her.

"Can we please keep this in English?" I asked exasperatedly. "Not that we didn't appreciate your help."

"Of course." His English was accented but sure.

"We were neighbors back in Texas," Rose explained as she tried to get a hold on herself. "I'm really sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. Don't blame yourself for things you couldn't help." Javier told her firmly. "We were here to help. Everything's ok."

"What _are_ you doing here, anyways?" Rose asked. I was wondering that myself.

"I wanted to make sure you were ok. I was trying to find that address you left when I happened to hear the not-so-wonderful sound of my first language." He explained.

I watched his grip on Rose. She seemed comfortable in his arms, but I still raised my brow. Rose hadn't mentioned anything about a boyfriend, but then again, she didn't talk much. I honestly did appreciate that he'd shown up, but that didn't mean I approved. The thought struck me as funny. I felt older, thinking about giving my 'approval' to my little sister. I kind of liked feeling protective to her.

Ponyboy quietly alerted us to the fact that it would probably be best for us to get home sooner rather than later. Darry's vein probably was pulsing again. Javier gave us a lift in his car and reassured Rose that he'd come by tomorrow, earlier. Before we went inside, I muttered to Rose.

"My advice? Don't spring the boyfriend on Darry right now." It was late. He was bound to overreact.

"Boyfriend?" Rose looked surprised, then blushed. "It's not like that with Javier."

"I hope it's not any worse." I said. I'd thought about it. Despite his hug and connection to Rose, she wasn't wearing his pin or anything like that. Helpful or not, if he was messing around with her or taking advantage, I'd slug him.

"No!" She was earnestly pink. "We're just friends. He's got a girlfriend. We've just known each other for a long time. Really. He's not interested in me in that way."

I let the subject drop. We'd see.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So? Any comments? Critiques? All are welcome and I'll update (this summer, not a year from now) if I get a few! Thank you.<strong>


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